The Game of Thrones
by Tv Centric Universe
Summary: "The air was alive with excitement and the sweet scent of blood. He had waited for so long, years almost, and now he would have his Grimm." Based on 'Face Off'. In-progress.
1. Chapter 1

**Renard's point of view**

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><p>Nick Burckhardt, police detective and Grimm extraordinaire. He was an intelligent man, loyal, fair and with observation skills that surpassed even the best.<p>

Nick was good at what he did, what he had to do, but not good enough to recognize Renard. It was expected though, very few could. Someone of his rank was rare, especially in such close approximation with a Grimm.

They were never written about and even those who saw them had never recorded it. That was the way it was. They were rulers, they chose a territory and stayed there; making sure all human and creature were safe. Grimm's were pretty high up on the wesen food chain, but Renard was higher.

Only the hexenbeasts had any idea of his true identity, for they were the only one he'd told. But even they did not know the full extent of his power, how through centuries his family had ruled over some of the greatest establishments, Rome and Athens being the oldest. No they had no idea, and they never would.

The regnant was a powerful creature, regarded among most as a legend, a whisper of truth in the wesen community. They were rare but they existed. They all had high ranking positions, either in politics or policing such as Renard. They always appeared human, unless in a ruthless battle where it was necessary to shift.

Right now was one of those times. The reaper had entered his territory, and for that he was missing an ear. The rumor of a Grimm in Portland was spreading like wildfire, and more and more creatures wanted in on the action. Renard knew they would return, what he did not expect was an entire group.

That was why Renard now stood surrounded by four reapers, scythes held high and ready to strike. He knew he could handle them with little problem, he was a regnant and it was his job. No, he wasn't worried about himself, but the unconscious detective at his feet.

He stood protectively over Nick, slightly crouched but still taller than the reapers. He was still wearing his suit, minus the tie which he had used to stop the blood from Nicks leg wound. One of the reapers stepped forward, drawing nearer to the police captain. He still appeared human but if you looked close enough you could faintly see a golden crown circling his head.

Renard could almost sense when the smallest reaper attempted to strike from behind, oblivious to the agility the regnants possed. Only a second had passed and the scythe was ripped out of his hands, thrown against the wall like the rest of him. At that moment, he understood what they were trying to do. Circle him, strike his blind spots and most importantly use the detective as his weakness.

Despite how much he tried to fight it, he had to recognize that if Nick was in danger, he would be there to help him. Although it may have been one sided, Renard had bonded with Nick. Not in the same way Blutbäder or even humans bonded, but bonding none the less. The regnant and Grimm balanced each other out, helped to keep the peace in the wesen world. It was not his fault he was so drawn to the Grimm.

Nick wasn't like other Grimm's. He wasn't a murderer and didn't kill without reason. The detective was loyal to the system and determined to find justice, cop before Grimm. It didn't matter if you were a creature or a human he treated you the same, even if others didn't. Throughout the years of working together, Renard also realized that inside Nick was a big softy, so different from Marie but with the same fighting spirit. Renard had been around quite a bit and even he had to admit that Nick was very good looking.

The regnant rarely got involved in creature affairs, but Nick wasn't a creature he was his Grimm, and his alone. They had lured him here using Nick as bait and it had worked.

They thought they could outsmart him by finding his weakness, but they were mistaken, he had no weakness. Nick might have been his greatest disadvantage but having superiority over the Grimm also gave him the biggest advantage. He knew Nick wasn't something you could control but the thought remained. If you control a Grimm, you control the creatures.

The reaper he was facing looked hesitant, and shot a glance to the crumpled form against the wall. He could have laughed at his lack of courage if it had not been for the injured man on the floor. Renard knew that enforcing his superiority was a stupid move, so he didn't and remained hovering over Nick.

The closest reaper appeared in control, matching Renard's calm exterior. He gestured over to the crumpled form at the regnants feet with the edge of the blade. A few seconds passes and the two reapers broke out of their trance into action. They rushed Renard from either side aiming low as if to hit Nick; they never got the chance.

He quickly grabbed the arm of the first and twisted it to some unnatural position; the sound of bone breaking was nearly loud enough to wake the unconscious Grimm. The smaller reaper met Renard's fist and was kicked out of the way. He would wake up with quite a headache tomorrow, and then Renard would have his fun.

The threat towards his Grimm had enraged the captain at a level he was not familiar with. Never had he let his control slip this far, not even in that terrible Blutbäder rampage of '04. Renard was in full transition. He stood up straight to his full height, his wings now at full span. Armored scales covered his exposed skin giving him a leathery appearance that shifted between dark copper, bronze and burnt gold. His eyes, normally green, were a medley of orange and black, no pupil was visible. His subtle jaw had transformed to a snout filled with glistening ivory fangs.

The scythes tumbled to the floor, and a loud clattering sound erupted in the warehouse. From the four that began only two reapers remained. The calm man stood to the right, facing him while the second stood close behind. The regnant got the feeling this would become very ugly, very soon.

They stood there for what seemed like hours. His status as royalty had already been questioned and he knew that it would get him nowhere with the reapers. The Grimm beneath him stirred, letting out a low whimper, and for the first time since entering the warehouse, Renard felt the tension ease, if only for a moment. The reapers peered down at Nick, not with anger or disgust but a look of hunger and something the regnant couldn't quite place.

Next thing he knew he was up in the air, wings aiding him to hover briefly over the scene. The reapers had no idea what was coming. He had no idea what was coming. Renard was no longer in control. He wasn't trying to be diplomatic or keep the peace like he normally would. His sole purpose was to protect the Grimm lying at his feet, his Grimm and his alone. A moment later and he had his hands around the reapers neck.

He ignored the sounds of protest, eyes wide with fear, and the racing of his heart. He buried down the feeling of joy and the rush of adrenaline as he felt the victim twitch beneath his razor sharp claws. It reminded him of the old days, when he used to hunt freely, before he had responsibilities or a canton to rule over. When he had done whatever he wanted, because he was royalty.

Renard couldn't repress the sadistic smile that spread across his face as the movements became increasingly desperate or the satisfaction he felt when the deliciously sickening sound of breaking bones echoed through the room. The reaper had threatened Nick and he had paid the price.

The man fell in a heap on the cold floor. The only thing visible was the abnormal angle of his neck, as prominent as the sick grin that graced the regnant's features. He looked back at the detective, who seemed to have fallen back asleep despite all the action. He calmly retrieved his cell phone and pressed speed dial. A minute later and he had disappeared deep into the forest; Adalind would be here soon to clean up this mess.

One day he realized the Grimm would catch on, but for now his identity was safe. He was king of Portland. He watched out for reapers and protected the Grimm, his Grimm.

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><p><strong>Please Review.<strong>

**Currently this is a one shot but if you would like I can continue.**

**Appearance is borrowed from "This Isn't Everything You Are" by Macx.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Renard's point of view**

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><p>His footsteps echoed in the concrete confines of the parking garage. The air was damp and smelt of gasoline and car exhaust. The coins felt heavy against his side and the cap sat like a crown on the captain's head.<p>

Renard walked with a sense of pride that he had not felt in a long time, not since he had claimed Portland as his very own. The heavy burden of influence weighed him down, but the adrenaline kept him from sinking. The coins, at least he felt, had strengthened him, into all he could be, into all Portland could be. He knew it was wrong, that those coins would corrupt him, but never before had corruption felt so good.

They were the few objects in the world that could bring somebody down, wesen or not. They had ended the lives of so many, and yet he couldn't resist. For the first time in years he felt free, of obligation and of his inevitable demise.

The first moment he held them he knew they were different. The establishments and the people they had brought down were among the greatest and most infamous. The desire to live amongst those ranks had overwhelmed him, drowning him in the lust for power, and power alone.

Even on the first night, the dream of thousands of people screaming his name was overpowering. It felt almost like a tingle, or a burning sensation running across his skin. They all cheered for him, calling him to his former glory, to rise from prince to king of his canton. He knew it was just a dream, but for the first time in years he wished it wasn't.

He wanted to be back in power, where nobody would question his rule, or his word. Where he was king, and all obeyed without resistance. Oh what a fine world that would be. He knew it would never come to exist, but for at least one night he allowed himself to dream.

Another pair of footsteps echoed from behind, but before Renard could respond he was on the ground. The coins had weakened him, if only in a physical sense. They had made him feel as he was above the law, above the wesen, but most of all above vulnerability. Somewhere deep within he still believed he was.

A voice echoed from somewhere near the door but he couldn't hear. As much as he wanted to react, to respond and say he was okay, he felt trapped. Trapped by the constant drive to possess, to own and to control. This was his city and his alone. The hunger for power had clouded his senses and in the moment nothing else seemed to matter.

It was almost as if he could sense the attack, but not react quickly enough to change the outcome. The dull metal surface collided with the vulnerable side of his neck, and he tumbled to the cold concrete floor.

Through the cloud of an impending headache, Renard managed to push the suspect over, if only momentarily. Round after round of bullets were fired, but the police captain did not care. He had one goal in mind: protect the coins.

The next thing he knew he was being ordered to stay down. Cool hands were pulling him over and leaned his weak frame against a damp pillar. A stray hand moved purposely to one of his coat pockets, the one holding what so many wanted. The weight by his side lightened and nearly a second later, he opened his eyes but the suspect had disappeared.

More gunshots echoed off the bare walls and somewhere far away he heard the dull thud a body falling. Frenzied hands slid over his jacket checking for the tell tale shape of the priceless metal. Within the next moment Nick was by his side, clutching at the Captains jacket. Cool fingers grasped the younger man's lapels, pulling him closer in a desperate and silent plea.

They had disappeared, his wealth, his influence, his chance at kingship. All thanks to the suspect Nick had set free. For the first time in a month he felt his control start to slip. He could feel the beginning of fangs starting to form and his anger begin to boil. The natural calming effect Grimm's had on regnant's wasn't working. He felt his humanity slipping away, replaced with the scattered priorities of his wesen side.

The next thing he knew he was standing up, the detective curled forcefully against the column. Claw like hands pressed the younger man against the cold surface, and a low growl escaped through his newly formed fangs. Gone was reasoning and his restraint. The regnant was in total control and it scared Renard.

The last time he was like this Nick was unconscious on the warehouse floor, a situation so different from now. But here he was holding his Grimm against a pillar of a parking garage, over a few pieces of gold.

The warm pulse and fresh scent of fear was distracting. Somewhere inside the creature was stirring with sick desire. Memories from the reapers came flooding back. The sound of breaking bone, clattering metal and high-pitched screams echoed in the regnant's head.

Nicks grey eyes were full blown with fear. Fear of him, the one he was unknowingly bonded with. The realization hit him like ton of bricks. Nick had yet to see him like this. He imagined how he must have looked. Eyes smoldered like fire and copper scales thick as armor.

Gradually, he forced himself to calm down, repressing animal instincts to attack. The anger was replaced with a deep feeling of shame, shame that he had let himself lose control, almost hurting his employee, his Grimm. He waited until his wesen side regarded Nick more as a friend than prey. Hesitantly the regnant released his iron grip on the detective, and moved them instead above the younger man's shoulders.

For what felt like hours, the detective stared. Nick no longer looked scared. He didn't even look angry, more intrigued, like Renard was a puzzle impossible to figure out. Burkhardt swallowed thickly, beginning to feel the evident tension.

Nick tentatively raised a hand to the captains broad chest. Renard closed his eyes, letting the feeling of peace wash over him. It was what Grimm did. They calmed down regnant's and vice versa. Renard's breathing was heavy and his head slumped downward on the detectives left shoulder. Both parties breathed in a sigh of relief as the tension was diffused.

When he felt well enough, he lifted his head, their lips almost touching. For a moment, they hung there, balancing on the thin line between boundaries and desire. Green eyes met grey and for a moment, there was a connection, a spark of something greater.

Realizing just how compromising this position may have appeared, Renard stumbled back and coughed into the sleeve of his coat. Nick just looked at the floor, and then at Renard. He was back in control and with a curt nod, the regnant was off.

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Renard's point of view  
><strong>

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><p>The air was warm and humid as a breeze swept over Portland. The leaves rustled and a kilometer away, a bird sang a small tune. The polished dress shoes of Renard stalked silently through mossy ground. He approached the clearing and found refuge behind the crumbling walls of the ruins. He watched unfazed as Adalind fought ruthlessly against the detective.<p>

His eyes began to glow green in warning and a faint rim of gold sparsely outlined his head. The regnant was on the cusp of losing control. His royal blood was calling to him, urging him to take control, to dominate. He fought down the feeling and allowed the fight to continue.

Adalind fought gracefully, dodging and landing well-aimed kicks to Nick's battered body. Something stirred in Renard, a kind of pride he could not explain. Even before they had met, Adalind had possessed something that drew him to her. She was powerful, magical even. The way she moved, the way she talked. There was something there that he needed.

He was powerful, even in his youth. A wealthy family in Europe supported him, although not his decision to move to America. He was a loner, with few true friends. Those he associated with knew nothing of the wesen world, nothing of what he truly was. She was almost the complete opposite. All her friends were wesen, most of them hexenbiest. She was popular, well liked, and naive.

When they met, a connection was created. It was like a spark had been ignited and a slow burning fire had begun. Their connection was strong, unbreakable, but it wasn't until a year later that he realized the extent of it. He liked her, but it wasn't till then he realized he needed her. She was a necessity; his second in command and a soldier only loyal to his cause. She was strong willed, and able to keep up with the responsibilities of a regnant.

He watched as Nick got the upper hand and she landed on the ground with a heavy thud. They struggled relentlessly, both trying to get the upper hand only to fail. Anger started to build, not about Adalind, or even Nick, but this whole situation. How had he let it get this far?

He felt a surge of power he had not felt since the coins, adrenaline urging him to fight. Fangs began to grow as the pressure in his back started to build. He felt rage beginning to bubble and his eyes changes from green to the aura of flame. Leathery wings sprouted from his shoulders as metallic, orange scales began to form. Without hesitation, he let the regnant take control.

Nick had pinned her down, and placed his hand around her neck. She struggled for breathe as he watched silently, crouched and ready for battle. He sprung out from behind the ancient ruins and towards the detective. He quickly grabbed Nick from behind restraining his arms with just enough force. Anger flared in his eyes as Adalind lay unconscious on the forest floor. Burkhardt struggled, using his mobility to try to escape, but Renard was too strong.

Clawed hands threw Nick against a nearby tree, and the crack of breaking bark echoed through the forest in every direction. A growl escaped his throat and his wings flared in disgust. One second and he was in front of the Grimm. A strong hand clasped around the detective's throat, claws scratching the flawless skin. The acidic smell of Grimm made him flinch as the younger man's attempts grew desperate.

A shaking hand reached for the holster, but Renard was too fast. His arm was twisted, and the sound of breaking bone created a sickening crack. Burkhardt screamed out in pain, howling as shards embedded themselves in his pale forearm. With one hand still on the man's throat, the regnant gave a grin of satisfaction. Nick's struggling finally ceased and the man was dropped unceremoniously onto the cool ground.

The regnant scowled at the man unconscious on the ground, features slowly morphing into their human counterpart. The claws resided into polished nails and lava eyes transformed into green. He looked down at the fallen Grimm and was filled with disgust. He looked down at his hands, tarnished with blood and dirt. The pride was gone and so was the adrenaline. He allowed himself to relax. The scene ran through his head; danger and the breaking of bone. His hand around the younger man's throat, watching him struggle in the crippling hold. He allowed fatigue to wash over him and pulled his eyes away from his detective.

He looked back at Adalind, and sorrow overcame him. She was still unconscious, her blonde hair spread around her creating a halo of gold. Scratches adorned her face, but her beauty remained. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to stare. He listened to her heartbeat, and allowed to sound to envelop him. She was alive and that was all that mattered.

Gingerly he strode over and held her in his arms. She seemed so small, so vulnerable. He carried her limp body to her car and carefully placed her in the passenger seat. The drive to her house was silent, but his thoughts kept him preoccupied. He stared out the window and watched woodland merge with the concrete pillars of city buildings. The moon was high in the sky and light shone eerily onto her sleeping face.

When they finally reached her home, he carried her warily to her front door. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a single key. He ran his fingers over the ridges and smooth surfaces of the key. The cool metal made him shiver and he gingerly lifted it to the door. The lock clicked and he silently opened the door. Stepping inside made him gasp. He could smell the wooded scent of blutbad and fuchsbau.

Once again, he could feel the regnant stirring. He placed her onto the couch and walked silently into her bedroom. What he saw shocked him. Hank lay in her bed, clothes scattered messily on the floor. Jealousy overwhelmed him and he felt anger beginning to burn. With a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down and turned his back to the detective in bed.

Walking quickly, he left the room, not stopping until he reached the front door. His footsteps came to a stop and with one look back, he found himself starring at the couch. She lay perfectly still, breathing even as she slept. He had to resist the urge to go to her, to envelop her in his arms and kiss her. With a deep breath, he left her, instantly missing the warmth as he surrendered to the cold wind. The mailbox creaked open as Renard opened it slowly. The key made a metallic sound as it was dropped. Filled with regret he walked away, sending up silent goodbyes.

He had only two things on his mind; a canton to run, and a Grimm to deal with.

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><p><strong>Please review. I know this chapter did not focus purely on Renard and Nick, but please forgive me. This story is a series of unconnected one shots.<br>**


	4. Chapter 4

**Renard's point of view**

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><p>The sun shone bright through giant windows as Renard entered his apartment. Objects lay strewn across the room. The acidic scent of blood hung in the air like a toxic cloud, intriguing but cautious none the less. Panic overwhelmed him and his senses went into overdrive. He heard everything, the creak of floorboards and the steady heartbeats of a patient Schakal. The smell alone made the regnant stir.<p>

Someone was in his home, his castle. It was his fortress, protected in all aspects, or at least he thought. His wesen side encouraged him to attack; he knew he could. He took a calming breath, forcing down the urge to lunge. His hands were steady as he drew his gun from the holster. Cautiously he turned the corner, carefully cataloguing of all the damage. Portraits hung crooked on the pristine walls and glass lay hazardously over the expensive carpeting.

Somewhere in a corridor, he could sense the creature. The hair on the back of his neck bristled, and he could feel his anger build. Metallic odour clouded the doubt prominent in his mind. The regnant snarled, sending a warning to the hidden wesen. A small pulse emanated from inside a closet, and Renard grinned hungrily. He sensed no fear, no adrenaline, just an unwavering calm that signaled the likes of a professional.

Suddenly the Schakal jumped out, surprising the captain and tackling him to the smooth floor. The breathe was knocked out of him and for a moment he laid there dazed and confused. The fighting was intense. Renard gave a hard shove and Kimura was trapped, pinned underneath the captain. The regnant growled deep within its throat; a sound of hunger and disgust. Kimura just smiled, taunting the other man.

With overpowering agility, the Schakal had his hands wrapped round the regnant's throat. Renard was pushed underneath the smaller man. Small claws created pinpricks of pain against armoured skin. He could feel the pounding of his heart and the sting of laboured breath. Clawed hands scraped on the hard wood, fighting for traction and dominance. His head hung low to his chest and fatigue began to cloud his vision. Strong arms began to buckle under the strain of consciousness.

In a dire attempt of freedom, he raised his head and with a burst of energy lunged forward. Akira howled in pain, an agonizing sound that made the regnant swell with pride. Fangs latched onto the struggling man, piercing through muscle and flesh. Blood filled his mouth as he reveled in the small victory. It left a metallic taste in his mouth, but he didn't care. Blood dribbled down his chin, staining scales crimson. He enjoyed the pained screams that left the other man and the felling of his pulse on his damaged skin. Fangs dug deeper into the flesh and the audible sound of breaking bone made the Schakal whimper in pain.

He didn't register the shifting weight or the hands that attempted to push him off. He just registered the pain, piercing his shoulder as he was forced onto the ground. A pained expression graced Renard's strained features as a wild scream left parted lips. The regnant growled in pain, pushing down the urge to flee. Powerful wings flailed uselessly behind him. A knife handle jutted out of his shoulder, teeth digging unforgiving through the muscle. Blood spilled from the wound, trickling thick and unending.

Fang grinded against fang, fighting through the pain as it reached almost an intolerable level. From above, Akira smirked at the cries of anguish. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, encouraging him to fight back. With a burst of energy he was on his feet, throwing the other man into the solid surface of the fridge.

His muscles ached as he raised his injured arm against the Schakal throat. He pushed down, and smiled as the man struggled. Desperate hands tried to push the regnant away, but Renard was too strong. He watched joyfully as his arms flailed and the need for breath grew more and more urgent. Eyes rimmed in red opened wide in panic and legs kicked at stale air. He crumbled to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Wings folded calmly against the regnants smooth back. Claws and teeth withdrew and scaled armour turned into expanses of toned muscle. Bloodstains graced the floor and the cabinets of his polished kitchen. Objects lay broken on the floor of his living room and he suspected it was the same in his bedroom. He took a calming breath and allowed his breathing to even out.

He was tired and it showed. His movements were sluggish as he approached the body. Two fingers verified that the man was still alive. Renard examined the dark bruising around his neck and a sense of pride washed over him. His shoulder was bleeding heavily and blood seeped from between his fingers when he tried to quell the bleeding.

Suddenly pain exploded from the side of his neck. A cry escaped from parted lips and Renard lay kneeling on the ground. His veins felt on fire and from the shoulder down, he was paralyzed. His heart quickened and his lungs struggled to breath. He felt dizzy and light headed. The acidic taste of vomit was prominent in his throat and he felt too warm to be healthy. Through clouded vision, he saw Kimura standing above him, a syringe empty in his hand. The edges faded to black and he fell on the floor with a heavy thud.

He woke up with a headache which exploded under dim lights. His mouth was dry and for a second he just sat there, too dazed to do much else. Suddenly it all came flooding back. The fight, the pain, the cloud of sickness that had clung to him when he fell to the floor. He could feel bruises on the side of his face and the ache of his shoulder stung with every attempt to struggle. Inside the regnant stirred, hating the vulnerability he felt. The feeling of a fist colliding with the tender side of his face created a shockwave and he fought to stay upright. He could hear the mumbles of questions, but only one word stood out.

The coins, it was all about the coins. The stupid coins had weakened him; made him desperate and weak. They had made him powerful but so vulnerable. He had lost control of the creature inside, and then he had lost him. Memories flashed through his head, the shock on Nick's face as the stoic captain lay begging at his inferiors' feet.

Blood leaked out of his mouth, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't struggle or fight back. He could only wait for the beating to stop. Whatever he had been given had weakened him, made him feel human. The beating finally stopped and the Schakal stepped back. Renard paused to catch his breath, to calm his heartbeat and to regain control. All composure went out the window though when the other man returned with the knife. Panic settled low in his belly as he approached, the sharp blade glinting in the dull light.

A loud knock on the door erupted in the silent air of the large condo. Akira looked towards the door, temporarily distracted from Renard's' vulnerable state. A voice called out and relief washed over the regnant when the Grimm's confident voice filtered through the door. Everyone held their breath as the door was kicked down and bright light flooded the room.

The heavy footsteps of the detective echoed around the loft and the large knife fell to the floor with a loud clang. Nick ran over to the regnant and quickly undtied the rope binding his hands. Renard winced as Nick ran his hans gingerly over the shoulder wound. Nimble fingers glided carefully over the battered flesh on the captain's strong jaw. He whimpered in pain and Nick drew his hand back, placing it instead on the broad plane of his chest, making him shiver. For a moment, they stared, green eyes meeting grey.

Their lips were millimetres apart and Renard could feel Nick's warm breath wash over his. It was so tempting. All he had to do was lean a little more. Nick's lips were parted in careful concentration. The captain swallowed reflexively, repressing the tingle that coursed through his chest where the Grimm's hand lay. Heat emanated off both parties, creating friction without actually touching. The regnant stirred, urging him to claim him, to make Nick his mate.

A loud cough sounded from the door, revealing Hank and Sergeant Wu, laughing silently and staring down at the floor.

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><p><strong>Please Review. If you would like me to write a kissing scene, just tell me and I will.<br>**


	5. Chapter 5

Nick yawned and rubbed his tired eyes. He looked down at his watch and frowned. The small numbers proved it was past ten o'clock and a stack of unfinished reports were stacked mockingly to his left. The words in front of him bled together with the line below and he blinked them into focus for what felt like the hundredth time. Carly had been found and he should have been proud. He was proud.

The eerie silence, however, seemed to undermine that pride. The crazed look Hank had given him had truly scared the younger detective. Now they typed in silence. He had told his partner the truth, the same truth he had hidden from so many others. He actually expected Hank to laugh, anything to cut through the awkward quiet that overshadowed their desks.

An angry sigh escaped the Grimm's throat as he opened his mouth, only to shut it again. He didn't know what to say. Should he apologise? Yell at him until he finally listened? Tell him it was just the job was getting to him? With a resigning huff, Nick stood up slowly, grabbing an empty mug on his way to the break room. The coffee maker steamed to life and the Grimm allowed himself to relax. The room filled with the aroma of fresh coffee and the detective felt his spirits lift.

As he sat down on the run down couch, he forgot about Juliette, his mother and the fact that his partnership was probably finished. From behind the glass, he saw Hank pack up and walk through the doors. With a sad smile, he realized he was the only one left at the precinct. At least there was no more awkward silence.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the Captains office door open. Nick watched in hidden anticipation as his superior approached. The detective was surprised when Renard entered the break room, even more so when he revealed a bottle of scotch and two small glasses.

Without hesitation, Nick moved over, nearly falling off when Sean's hand caught him by the knee. Renard felt his cheeks grow warm at the compromising change in position and drew his fingers back quickly. A comfortable silence filled the room, only disturbed by the sound of two glasses being filled with rich amber liquid. Nicks hand felt heavy around the glass as he raised it to his lips and swallowed quickly. He resisted the urge to cough and barely registered as his glass was once again filled up.

They drank until the bottle was empty, well Nick did. The older man still nursed glass number one. Nick was drinking his, well let's just say Renard has lost count after number five. His words slurred into intangible rambles. He mostly talked about Monroe, and Renard pushed down the jealousy that totally didn't surface, (really, he wasn't jealous at all).

The regnant nearly jumped back when the Grimm leaned on his shoulder. He resisted the urge to lift the detective's chin ever so slightly. The other man's hand had fallen onto his thigh and he wondered if the detective even knew what he was doing. Cool fingertips burned through the smooth cotton and the Captain resisted the urge to shiver. In the back of his mind he wondered how it would feel if his hand just went a little higher. He mentally slapped himself and the soft material of the couch became extremely uncomfortable. Slowly he moved away from the younger man, body becoming paralyzed when the detective stirred.

The Grimm tiredly reached for the bottle and the regnant missed the feel of soft hair against his broad chest. Turning it over with the opening to his glass, Nick frowned disappointedly when he discovered it was empty. Placing his hands on his knees, he struggled slightly to stand up as the Captain rose to help him. He sauntered to a nearby wall and held on to the solid surface when the feeling of dizziness returned. The older man held him by the shoulders in a feeble attempt to get him home safely.

Instead the detectives feet stayed planted in the ground as he whispered something inaudible to the older man. Renard craned his head downward and looked expectantly into deep grey eyes. He swallowed reflexively and suppressed a shiver when he recognized the look gracing the Grimm's features.

They stood an inch away from each other; breathe mingling in the still air. The silence surrounded them, enveloping them in the smell of cheap coffee. Beneath his hands, Nick could feel the heat of skin making his fingers tingle with anticipation. The detective ran his fingers softly over the smooth flesh of muscled shoulders. The Grimm looked into the darkened eyes of his captain.

Nick studied the bright green of passion-filled eyes. His heartbeat was steady despite his racing thoughts and for a moment, they just stared. Renard's eyes glided over his face; settling on pink lips parted in heated excitement. Warm hands clutched the small of his back; burning the tough leather and worn cotton to awaken heated flesh.

Large hands slid lower over tight jeans and pushed the smaller body against his own. Renard's clouded eyes locked with the younger man's, enveloping him in an unbreakable hold. Nick swallowed reflexively, cowering behind clouded apprehension.

The older man's pupils grew wide as they stared at Nick hungrily. He could smell the musky aroma of leather as it gathered around the detective, mixing with his own strong cologne. Their faces drew closer and their lips remained a mere inch apart.

Through half-lidded eyes, Nick's lips met Renard's. The kiss was shy at first, slow and delicate. The regnant lips moved softly against Nick's, coaxing a quiet gasp from the younger man. The detective returned the favor with vigor. Cool fingertips brushing the lower edge of Nicks cotton shirt. Cold air brushed against his lower stomach making him shiver against the police Captain. Strong arms pulled him closer, shielding him from the empty precinct and warming up his thin frame.

Startled eyes looked up into confident green ones. Nick's breath came in shallow pants stirring the air between them. Renard looked down calmly, hands still wrapped around the detective. His heart raced in his chest, adrenaline fuelling buried lust rising to the surface.

The second kiss was stronger, more aggressive. Their lips merged together in a flurry of passion, teeth clashing. Nick could taste the lingering of the scotch they consumed earlier and it only fuelled his eager attempts. A low growl escaped the regnant's throat as the wesen began taking control. His hand rose higher along the detectives' muscled torso, as his eyes lidded with pleasure.

From somewhere in his jean pocket his phone began to vibrate. A sigh escaped the younger man as he leaned his head back against the rough column. A large hand reached into his pocket pulling out the obnoxious device and handing it to the waiting detective. Dark eyes looked up pleadingly at Renard. The older man bent down, settling his lips near the Grimm's ear. The detective felt his cheeks grow warm as Renard's breath passed over his neck.

"Wake up." He said with a low voice and teasing grin.

With a sudden jolt of energy Nick sat up, frowning when he realized he was still at the station. The Captain was calling his name, shaking his shoulder as a blush spread across the Grimm's face.

Nick really can't handle his alcohol, Renard thought happily.


	6. Chapter 6

Soft moss blanketed the ground and crickets played a soft crescendo, illuminating the shadows. A lone breeze trickled through heavy foliage, but Nick found no calm. Deep in the forest, he felt only rage.

His memories swirled; the case, the girl, _his first kill_. Staring at the abandoned house, he wondered if he could ever go back to when life was simple. There were no royals and no war. He had a loving girlfriend, a caring aunt and the luxury of the doubt.

Wrapping his coat tighter around himself, he watched as the hands of his watch slowly trudged by, passing numbers without regard. Time seemed slow, methodical, the complete opposite of what he needed. What he needed was chaos, dark and wanton, swirling around him, embracing him like he had embraced them.

Inside, his temper began to escalate, ever so slowly taking him over. He thought about the absurdity of it all. His captain and his girlfriend, the death and destruction, all in the name of a stupid key. To them he was a pawn, vulnerable and expendable. Now that key was missing, stolen by some righteous wesen, simply out of greed. His boss, the man he admired, the man he loved; had deceived him. He lay in wait for the telltale whisper as soft soil gave way under heavy tires.

Headlights blinded him and the smell of exhaust filled the chilly air. A moment later and the detective was staring down his captain, his prince. Behind green eyes, Nick sensed no anger, only peace. Renard strode confidently; his shoulders straight and walk smooth. The Grimm's eyes were cold, but in his heart, the floodgates began to crumble. He could feel his pulse racing and the adrenaline pump through his veins.

With each step, Nick could feel the tension grow. Every breath became audible and each emotion, unearthed. Around them, the world seemed to shift, enveloping the two in a shrouded fog. With an almost primal urge, Nick sprung forward, punching Renard and landing a hard blow to the older man's jaw. The larger man fell swiftly to the ground and lay prone beneath him, receiving every assault that followed.

Without warning, strong hands wrapped around his wrists and, with a powerful shove Nick was sent through the air. A resounding crack filled the forest as bone met bark, and the air quickly left the Grimm's lungs. Wrapping an arm tighter against himself, he watched the Captain stand his ground, hand out in quiet surrender. He could see the man's features wince in pain; bruises forming along otherwise unmarred skin. His eyes were alight, glowing iridescent with brilliant hues of flame. From where he stood, Nick could sense it; something was changing, growing.

Renard could feel the regnant beginning to stir, pushing him to violence. Watching _his _Grimm, he saw the anger in those grey eyes and oddly enough, adoration. From within, he heard whispers, reminding him of the thrill, the adrenaline, of the hunt. The hunger was unbearable, the thirst for blood, irresistible. Renard was used to resisting the urges; to bite, to break, to claim. Every time Nick entered the precinct, a new battle began; a battle he knew he would eventually lose. He could feel a slow burn spreading from his heart; lines of fire cutting down to his lungs, suffocating him from the inside out.

Pushing down the bitterness, he forced himself to focus. The Grimm in front of him was an ally, a friend, or rather, he would be. In stormy eyes, he read only vengeance, burning deep like the heart of a dying star. That would have to change, he thought to himself. With a deep breath, Renard opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it.

What would he have said? He did not know. So many times he had practiced this speech, for politicians, for reporters. He always spoke of peace, freedom, and the greater good. But for the man in front of him, he had no words. Nick already knew: his family, the Verrat; everything. The regnant saw him as a threat, and maybe, just maybe; it was right.

With a sudden flash, the Captain doubled over, clutching painfully at his side. From his chest erupted tendrils of pain, leaving him gasping, vulnerable. But even with his eyes closed painfully shut, the regnant could sense Nick. It could sense terror and for a brief moment, Renard had hope. Inside, the creature persisted, clawing at his heart, his lungs, anything it could sink its claws into.

Slowly but surely, he knew he was losing. He could feel it, like the crest of a wave, rising smooth and unchallenged. Soon the wesen would bleed through and Nick would have no option but to shoot. Only the regnant knew what would happen when it broke loose. For so long he had kept it in check, chained up and buried deep within himself; so deep he almost forgot he was a monster. But now, he knew there was no way out. He would turn and he would have _his _Grimm.

Seconds passed and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Pain burst from inside his chest, enveloping Renard in a foggy haze. An overwhelming cold swept over him, making his battered body shiver. His mind raged, his humanity wept, and from across the clearing Nick watched with veiled awe.

In front of the detective stood a man, usually strong and confident, crumpled on his knees. The Grimm called to Nick, urging for justice,for _revenge_. How easy would it be, he wondered, to kill this man?

Hastily shaking his head, he dismissed his thoughts. If Renard was a monster, then what was he? He had killed, murdered and hated. He had defended, loved and lost. Everything that had shaped Renard, Nick had felt too. Haunted by their past, and their family, they had fled. They were outcasts, hidden from their instinct, constantly supressing what their blood longed to be.

Nick watched with disbelief as the Captain began to scream, mournful rage-filled sounds which pierced the air. He stood silent as, with a pained lurch, wings tore through smooth cotton and more cries ignited the darkness.

With a final shout, Renard collapsed, panting but without pain. Lifting his pounding head seemed almost a challenge for the regnant, but the incentive was irresistible. The air was alive with excitement and the sweet scent of blood. He had waited for so long, years almost, and now he would have his chance.

Never before had the detective felt so inspired, so moved, by a wesen. So long had he waited for Renard to let go, to finally see the anger veiled from him. The Captain, or rather, the wesen he had become, was awe-inspiring. Black wings arched and flexed impressively while a faint golden glow encircled his head. Sharp teeth reflected the remaining moonlight, glinting sharply. From where he stood, Nick could see bronze scales, layered upon muscled flesh like armour. But most intriguing were his eyes, smoldering with growing curiosity. The colours shifted, from rich gold and brilliant yellow to deep red, alight with passion.

In those eyes, Nick felt himself weaken. They enthralled him, be it the glint of hunger or the wanton of it all. Somewhere, his primal side longed for such a gaze, for such focus. They were the eyes of a hunter, strong and brave, never dwindling nor backing down.

Renard watched Nick, observing as the younger man licked his parted lips. He smiled to himself, letting his tongue slide with ease over pointed fangs. He recognised that look, and from his stance low to the ground, he zoned onto his victim. Adrenaline flowed through his body and his heartbeat grew in excitement. Soon, he would have his prey.

Nick watched as the Captain rose to his feet, rushing him with teeth bared. He acted on reflex, dodging the forward attack with practiced ease. With a kick to the back, the older man went sprawling into a nearby tree, where he leant and gathered his breath. With hesitant concern, the detective approached, hand out towards a scaled shoulder.

Suddenly, the regnant stirred, pushing off with fluid motion. Clawed hands grabbed his wrists and pinned the smaller man against the rough bark. The detective knew he should have been scared but for of the life of him, he felt only anticipation. Their faces were mere inches apart and their breath mingled in the cool breeze. From behind him, moonbeams illuminated the distorted features and ember eyes appeared gold.

With equal furry, their lips met, clashing in a passionate embrace. The kiss was hungry and desperate as Nick quickly pulled the older man against himself. His arms wrapped around Renard's muscled torso, sliding over smooth scales with increasing boldness. Large hands moved from his arms to his chest, skimming downward to the hem of his dark t-shirt. Delicate claws traced patterns on the younger man's stomach, drawing out a quiet gasp. A rough growl erupted from deep within, signalling the regnant diminishing patience.

When they finally parted, Nick watched intently as his features once again transformed. Bronze scales were replaced by a smooth expanse of skin and dark wings folded neatly against a muscled back. From deep in his throat, Renard let out a low groan, making Nick sigh against their fused lips. The captains' tongue swept playfully over the detective's parted ones and the younger man let his head fall loosely against the tree.

Drinking in the pale flesh, Renard moved skillfully, nipping gently beneath the younger man's ear. Letting out a discreet breath, Nick ran his fingers through the short hairs at the base of the Sean's neck. Large hands moved lower, pulling the Grimm closer until there was no room between them. Beneath him, he could feel every muscle, every reaction.

He could feel Nick's excitement against his own and with renewed vigor, the Captain let his hands wander, running his fingers along the detective's lean hips. A low chuckle escaped his throat when Nick moaned in response, almost submissively. A strained "please" escaped the young man's parted lips, and the regnant took it as a sign, once again kissing the soft mouth. His fingernails scratched lightly against the small of his back, marking him with bright strokes.

Opening his eyes, Renard smiled to himself.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

><p><strong>I am deeply sorry for the long wait. Please take this chapter as a formal apology. Reviews are wholly welcomed. Again, sorry.<strong>


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